Yours
by Empathist
Summary: Brendan writes Ste a letter.


31st July '12

Dear Steven

If you are reading this letter, I'm in my grave.

I'm seeing my solicitor in the morning, and I'm going to give this to him with instructions to give it to you if I die. 'In the event of my death', as they say. He'll explain about it properly, I'll make sure he knows what to say to you.

There are things going on that you don't know about. There's people around that want to hurt me by hurting the people I care about, and I'm trying to fix it but it's risky and it's very possible that something will happen to me. I can't tell you any more than that, and the less you know, the better, but I think the danger will die with me so you will be safe then. I don't know much more myself about what's going on, to be honest. Maybe it will come out when I'm gone.

So I'm writing this letter because there are things I haven't said to you, things I should have said, and the way things are I may not get the chance to say them face to face. If you're reading this, it looks like I ran out of time.

I need to tell you I'm sorry. I'm sorry for every punch I laid on you, for all the times I scared you, for every time you trusted me and gave me a chance and I blew it. It wasn't about you. You know that, you told me didn't you? You said I punish myself by hurting the people I care for, because I hate myself so much. You were right. But it was about you, in a way. Not your fault, you have to believe that because it's the God's honest truth, but I did what I did to you because of what you are and what you meant to me.

There were times when another kind of life seemed possible. You showed me. But I failed you and I failed myself, and I didn't deserve you so I pushed you away. I'm good at that, pushing people away.

I should tell you that I'm sorry I ever chose you and dragged you into my life. I should, but I'd be lying, and I know I lie all the time but not here, not in this letter. This letter is cards on the table. I can't be sorry, not for starting it. I know it was fucked-up, and I fucked up, but we had our moments didn't we? Between all the crazy and the fighting and the hating, we had our moments, when it was just you and me. Will you remember that? Will you think about it, Steven, when I'm gone? It's kept me going sometimes, when everything's been dark, remembering you. Remembering us. I need you to remember that it was real, as real as the pain I gave you. Memories are ephemeral. That means, they die away. When I'm dead it's only you left to remember what we were like when all the bullshit fell away and we had what we had. I have to believe those times will live on in your head, because if they don't, there'll be nothing left. There was no other witness.

I want you to look out for Cheryl. Will you do that for me? I know you're close. Thick as thieves, I sometimes think, but I'm glad that you care for each other, and she'll need a friend. I'm trying to get her back but you know she's barely talking to me, and if she's still hating me at the end then I need someone to speak up for me. I don't know why you would do that for me, but there isn't anyone else. Do it for Cheryl's sake if not for mine.

Declan too. Dad of the Year I am not. You don't know the half of it but take my word, he's got no reason to have a good opinion of me. If you ever get the chance, can you try and redress the balance? Tell him that I wasn't all bad, because fuck knows what Eileen will have him think of me. He looks up to you, so maybe you can big me up a bit. Don't go into detail (he doesn't need to know that I did my best work between the sheets) but if you can think of anything good to say about me, please say it to my son.

I have no right to ask anything of you, I know that, but I've seen in you lately that there's something still there. I've seen it since Lynsey. Some feeling. Maybe it was just compassion, I don't know, but I'll take that.

This wasn't meant to be me asking you favours. This was meant to be me telling you things you should be told. I'm not one for talking about things, feelings and stuff, and it looks like I'm not one for writing about them either.

When I see my solicitor tomorrow (today actually, it's after midnight now so it's the beginning of August, though summer never seems to last as long as you hope) I'm sorting my will out. There'll be something in there for you, and don't let that pride of yours stop you taking it. Use it for your kids, your future, whatever. Just use it.

Cards on the table I said. Here goes.

I've never stopped wanting you. I've tried, believe me, and I even thought I'd succeeded for a while. I was kidding myself. That's why I did half the things I did, to keep you in my life even when you wanted anything but. It's why I bought your flat. Maybe I shouldn't have done that, but you were slipping further away from me and I couldn't think of any other way to keep you in my sights, apart from calling into the deli every bloody day. A bit stalkery, I admit, and I'm ashamed when I think about it all. I've always been ashamed of one thing or another, all my fucking life.

I was angry too. Humiliated. You scammed me, but for what it's worth, I forgive you. You never used to be the kind of man who would manipulate a person's emotions in order to get what you want. You learnt that particular skill from a master, so it was down to me, and maybe I had it coming. So anyway, I'll sort it out somehow, the flat business, if I get a chance.

I want you to be happy. If it's Douglas who gives you that, then fine, but not if you're with him just because he needs you or because it's better than being alone. Don't just settle. There's a million men out there who'd want you, they'd be crazy if they didn't. You should be with someone who deserves you. If you're reading this letter, I guess I never got the time for that man to be me.

There's never been anyone else. There's been lads, you know that. So many I've lost count over the years, and they served their purpose, they scratched an itch. And there was Vinnie, who meant something, I won't deny it. Macca too in his way I guess, for a while at least. But you're the one. Those words I said to you a year ago were true then and they're true now and I've never said them to any other man. I've never felt it for any other man. You changed me. You might not think it's true, but it is. You made me a better man. Not a good enough one, but better than I was. You made me capable of love.

Do you remember the times we had? Will you remember? When it was just you and me, and we forgot the world. You were everything I needed. Your body completed me. Your love made me feel like I was worth something. And you did love me, it was there in your eyes.

I love you. Do you believe me? I need you to believe me, Steven, because then maybe in the future when the rest is gone, you'll still have that one thing with you. My survival, if you like. I love you. I love you.

I don't know if there's a Hell but if there is, I reckon that's where I'm headed. I've known it since I was a kid, my dad told me so, our priest told me, so I've had plenty of time to get used to the idea. It doesn't scare me, because I know I'll have you in my head at the end like I always do, and I know that's the one thing that will take me closer to Heaven.

Yours, always

B.


End file.
